As an example of social mobility, she is a hard act to beat. From Southall council flat to grandmother of the third in line to the throne is a long way to travel in 58 years. It would be forgivable if Carole Middleton, looking down to where she came from, had the occasional dizzy spell, but vertigo is not a problem for the former British Airways’ stewardess. Poise at altitude is her forte.

So is rising above the “doors to manual” jibes of some of Prince William’s friends, who found it amusing that Kate’s mother once had the kind of job that ordinary people do. The new royal baby will neither know nor care that the smiley lady cooing over his Moses basket was herself born “working-class through and through,” as Carole’s brother, Gary Goldsmith, described the family. To Prince George, she will always be the most central and beloved of figures: Granny Carole.

Unlike any previous royal baby, this one is blessed with a normal grandmother who brought up her own children, and a mother who is clearly determined to do the same. Would Kate have had the confidence to defy centuries of tradition, and not hire a Norland nanny for the little prince, if she weren’t able to go straight home to mum after just one night spent in Kensington Palace? I doubt it.

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The grandmother on the maternal side is always in pole position when her daughter gives birth, but that is doubly true for Carole Middleton. Had the Princess of Wales lived, Granny Carole would have had some serious competition. Diana adored babies, and the feeling was mutual. The princess, who lavished affection on her own sons, would have been a most loving grandparent, and William will have felt that loss keenly on Monday when he first held the boy that his mother will never touch. But Diana’s early death — she would have turned 52 earlier this month — leaves Granny Carole in a uniquely powerful position.

It’s no coincidence that Carole and Michael Middleton were the first visitors. With a typical lack of fuss, the couple turned up on Tuesday afternoon at the Lindo Wing of St. Mary’s Hospital in a London cab. Carole, who can look lip-nibblingly anxious on public occasions, cut a radiant figure in a sprigged Orla Kiely dress. Back in 2011, when the Middletons made a statement to the media about William and Kate’s engagement, Mike did the talking. On Tuesday, it was Carole who stepped forward into the electrical storm of photographers and pronounced her grandson “absolutely beautiful.” She said that she had cuddled him and “it all came back.”

Traditionalists grumbled that the Mids, as they are known to friends, had committed a faux pas by meeting the baby before his royal grandfather. Snobs who feel William married beneath him lose no opportunity to accuse Carole of possessing sharp elbows and forgetting her place. They are the same people who dubbed Kate and Pippa “the Wisteria Sisters,” for their ferocious ability to social-climb. But the Palace was quick to point out that there had been no breach of protocol by the Middletons. And you can be sure that the couple, who are determined not to put a foot wrong, cleared their visit in advance with the Duke of Cambridge.

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Still, by letting Carole and Mike see the baby first, he was making a point. The same point that was made last Christmas Day, when William sought the Queen’s permission to miss the royal gathering at Sandringham and opted for a cosier time in Berkshire with Kate’s family. “William has been adamant from the start that the Middletons will not be airbrushed out of the picture as other royal in-laws have been,” says one Palace insider. “He adores Carole and he was really angry when cruel remarks about her being an air hostess and chewing gum [she was accused of chewing nicotine gum at Prince William’s Sandhurst passing-out parade in 2006] were printed.”

For William, who grew up in the Wales war zone with “the blood coming under the door,” the 33-year marriage of Mike and Carole is a sanctuary and an example. Enjoying Carole’s Sunday roast at the kitchen table in Bucklebury has shown him a relaxed, middle-class way of life that he now seeks for his child. “William is very determined not to make his and Kate’s domestic happiness a casualty of royal life,” says a friend. Getting Granny Carole to play a major role in his wife and son’s day-to-day life is a key part of the plan.

The suggestion that Kate wanted both Carole and her sister, Pippa, by her side during childbirth were thankfully wide of the mark — poor William wouldn’t have been able to see his son come into the world through all that swishy Middleton hair. But it was another sign that the future King is not to be regarded as the sole property of the Royal family. Grandpa Charles may be His Royal Highness, but there is no doubt that, in the domestic realm at least, he ranks below Granny Carole.

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So, what difference will she make to the life of this little boy, whose destiny was determined from the moment of conception? It is instructive to compare two photographs, both taken in 1982. First, there is the picture of Princess Diana at William’s christening. Surrounded by the world’s most alarming in-laws, the new mother is desperately trying to quiet the squally baby in her arms by sticking her little finger in his hungry mouth. Diana looks flustered under her pink brimmed hat, but there is no indication of concern on the part of the Queen or the Queen Mother. For the Windsors, babies are something that nannies deal with, to be presented to one after bathtime. (The Queen was apparently bemused at Balmoral that Diana preferred to do everything for baby William herself, when there were staff to do it for her.)

In the second photograph, a faded family snapshot, Carole Middleton is sitting on a bed holding her first baby, the 15-day-old Catherine Elizabeth. Carole’s face is practically soft-focus with those rapt, tender feelings that flood the new mother. However, unlike most human women who have had a baby a fortnight ago, she looks serene and immaculate. No bed-hair for Carole and, even more astonishingly, no epaulettes of baby sick on that jumper. Even her figure has pinged obediently back into shape.

Back then, Mrs. Middleton was living in a small Victorian semi, washing and ironing her own floral duvet covers; the Princess of Wales was living in a palace full of flunkeys, but there is no denying which woman looks more contented. Somehow, Kate will have to steer a path between the two.

It is a mark of her reserve, and of the loyalty she inspires in friends and neighbours, that we know remarkably little about Carole Middleton. In looks and in drive, the party entrepreneur is very like her late mother, Dorothy, a sales assistant who married Ronald Goldsmith, a painter and decorator. Tiny, birdlike Dorothy was a coal miner’s granddaughter and an engine of aspiration. Known as Lady Dorothy to relatives because “she always wanted to be the top brick in the chimney”, Dorothy was fanatical about keeping up appearances and raising her two children, Carole and Gary, for a better life.

Although Dorothy and Ronald began married life living with Ron’s mother in a condemned flat in Southall, in west London, Dorothy made sure that baby Carole had a Silver Cross pram, the Rolls-Royce of infant transport. It was a pram fit for a princess, and Carole duly grew up with ideas above her station. Back in the Seventies, every pretty, bright working-class girl wanted to be an air hostess. Carole Goldsmith pulled it off, and it was at British Airways that she met a gentle young fellow called Michael Middleton, who was descended from staunchly middle-class legal stock. Carole made an excellent marriage to Mike, and all but two of her own relatives seem to have been considered unsuitable to attend the wedding.

The Middletons lived comfortably, though not lavishly, sending their three children to private schools with the help of Michael’s family trust. One mother, whose child was in the same house as Kate at Marlborough College, said: “There was always something slightly galling about having your child at school with the Middletons. Every pristine item of their clothing would have a beautifully sewn-in name-tape, for instance. It was unthinkable that they would resort to marker pen on labels.” Kate and Pippa had the “smartest tennis racquets” and huge picnics at sports day. “It made other families feel rather hopeless,” recalled the mother.

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The Middletons lived comfortably, though not lavishly, sending their three children to private schools with the help of Michael’s family trust

Others might detect overcompensation: a state-school-educated woman from a working-class home who is encountering the intimidating public-school culture for the first time, and doesn’t want to let her children down. As Carole must have surmised, only aristocrats can get away with scruffy clothes and stale sandwiches. Those who were raised on Mother’s Pride need steady nerves, tenacity and, if possible, a mother’s pride to stay the course. If you’re not to the manor (or the manner) born, you have to try that much harder.

So here’s a curious thought. Carole, who as a small girl was taken to cheer the Queen by her ardent monarchist mother, would like her descendants to be rather more Windsor; whereas William, who is in search of a socially well-adjusted royal child fit for a scaled-down, 21st-century monarchy, would like his to be more Middleton. The boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth now aspires to emulate the woman raised with cutlery from Woolworths. Truly, the British class system is a wondrous thing.

When Charles married Diana, Prince Philip said: “At least she will breed some height into the line.” And she did, too. Both William and Harry tower over their father. The DNA of this new royal boy carries even more interesting traits from his maternal side: a superb head of hair (farewell, Windsor male-pattern baldness!), good looks, elegance, social dexterity, poise at altitude and the most ferocious drive. All that, plus the devoted attentions of a working-class girl made very good indeed. Lucky Granny Carole. Lucky little George.

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